


What's Your Name, Man?

by penguingal



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:12:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6912349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguingal/pseuds/penguingal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod Crane meets Alexander Hamilton for the first time. It... does not go well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Your Name, Man?

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short little thing wherein I imagine the first meeting between Ichabod Crane and Alexander Hamilton, set as a story told to Abbie. It was intended to be the first bit of a much longer crossover between Sleepy Hollow/Hamilton/Turn: Washington's Spies (otherwise known as the Turn/Hamilton/Sleepy Hollow crossover fic of doom) but I'm struggling with figuring out exactly what story I want to tell there. So I give you this bit instead. Set in the beginning of Season 3 of Sleepy Hollow. Enjoy!

Ichabod would never admit that Abbie was actually right about it, but while she is out of the house, he does decide to crack open his citizenship textbook and start reading. He thanks his eidetic memory that at least he’ll only have to read it the one time. He starts perusing the pages, starting with what happened the years after his death. The names of his comrades and mentors that all went on to build this nation give him a bout of nostalgia and a serious homesickness. And then one name makes him sit up and flip to the Index to find out more. Alexander Hamilton.

“Crane! Are you here?”

“Lieutenant,” Ichabod says, coming in from the living room. He brandishes the textbook in front of him like she is personally responsible for the content. “What do you know about Aaron Burr killing Alexander Hamilton in a duel?”

“Not much more than that,” Abbie says, going to the fridge and pulling out the orange juice. “I know Burr was vice president at the time of the duel. Why? Friends of yours were they?”

“Hardly,” Ichabod says, snapping the textbook shut. “Hamilton and I hated each other almost immediately upon our first meeting. I’m not at all shocked his life ended in a duel. Hamilton fought with almost everyone. He was always so convinced he was the smartest person in the room.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would be annoying,” Abbie says. She takes her orange juice into the living room. “Did you know Burr?”

“Not really. I met him once. At a ball where Hamilton was in attendance. Burr didn’t make much of an impression on me, then.”

Abbie puts her feet up. “So, tell me. What happened between you and Hamilton to make you hate each other so much on first sight?”

....

The General’s headquarters was a small, cramped house, usually filled with scribes and aides de camp writing and transcribing correspondence. But on Ichabod’s arrival, it is mysteriously quiet, save for one man bent over his study with his back to him. “Pardon me? I’m looking for His Excellency,” Ichabod says.

The man lifts his head and through his glasses squints at Ichabod. “His Excellency is resting. Come back tomorrow,” he says without introduction. He blithely returns to his work.

“Forgive me, sir, for insisting,” Ichabod says pointedly. “But General Washington summoned me here in the most explicit terms, urging that I should report directly to him upon my arrival.”

“Lieutenant Colonel,” the man says. He lifts his head and looks at him again. “And again I say to you, Captain, that the General is resting. He rests precious little these days and I would not disturb him for anything less than the end of the rebellion itself.”

Ichabod draws himself up to his full height, his fingers twitching against the hat he holds respectfully in his hand. “And may I know the name of the man who is barring me from discharging my duty, so when the General inquires I may give him true report?”

At this, the man finally stands up and faces him, pulling himself up to whatever height he possesses. “Alexander Hamilton,” he says. “At your service. And may I know the name of the man refusing to listen to the General’s aide when he is in fact discharging his own duty and that most faithfully?”

“Ichabod Crane. Your servant, sir,” he says, bowing.

“Crane?” Hamilton says, a frown crossing his features. “You’re Ichabod Crane?”

“I have said it is so. Why do you frown at me in that manner?” Ichabod says, frowning himself.

“Because I believe you to be quite insane, sir,” Hamilton says without rancor. “I’ve read your letters. They are plainly the ravings of a lunatic.”

Ichabod leans on the table in front of him, one hand raised and a single finger pointing upward in the manner he once used with his students. They came to know it as a signal that he should have their full attention for what was about to be said would be revelatory and not to be repeated. “I can assure you, sir, that the contents of my letters are nothing but the true and accurate accountings of the information General Washington induced me to seek. I have seen, to borrow a phrase, more under Heaven and Earth than is dreamt of in our human philosophy. If you had seen a fraction of what I had, you would not bar me from seeing the General now. Not with what is at stake. Further, I will not have my word challenged in this impudent manner.”

“Impudent? You are speaking to a superior officer, Captain,” Hamilton rejoins. “And the senior aide-de-camp to your Commander. I will challenge you on what I will when I will and I will prove it to you on the dueling grounds if necessary.”

“Alexander…” Washington says wearily, entering from the adjacent room, his cloak wrapped around his shoulders over his breeches and open shirt. “I cannot afford to have you fighting with Captain Crane. He is vital to my plans and I would thank you to remember that.”

“General, I--” Hamilton begins to protest, but he’s silenced by a wave of Washington’s hand.

“Ichabod, come inside. We have much to discuss,” Washington says. “That’s all for this evening, Alexander.” He escorts Ichabod inside to his office and closes the door behind him, leaving Alexander on the outside for the very first time.

....

“You? You almost dueled with Alexander Hamilton?” Abby says, amused. “Because he thought you might be insane.”

“Oh, lieutenant! The man was insufferable!” Ichabod says, getting to his feet. “His arrogance. His utter disregard. His dismissal as though I was no more than a dog barking at his heels to get his attention. He never used three words when ten would do and never, ever met a fight he didn’t take up head on. The man was stubborn and rash and he evidently paid for it with his life,” he finishes, pacing up and down their living room. “And yet, for all of that,” he adds, the wind going out of his sails, “I came to have a grudging respect for him. I regret that my death in 1781 meant that I never got to see the statesman I read about here in this book.”

Abbie smirks and she just can’t resist turning the knife a little. “You know he and Jefferson hated each other, too. Were apparently diametrically opposed to each other and political enemies from the jump.”

Ichabod’s ire returns full force and he swears forcefully.


End file.
